


Tell Me You Don't Want

by orphan_account



Series: Pumped Up Kicks [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe – canon, M/M, baby assassins, because reality is a canon apparently, so much hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 07:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is far too busy to get involved with anyone.  He's got touring obligations, a lot of people to kill, and Harry Styles to reckon with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me You Don't Want

It's nice when they get to go out on a job that's nothing to do with touring.  Not that Louis doesn't love being on tour, but it feels like a bit of a holiday when they're not doing a show a night and three or four clients every couple of weeks.  Louis loves singing more than he loves anything on earth, almost, but – he'd always thought performing was his calling, his passion, and then all of a sudden he tried something else and it was _the_ thing, a whole new world opening up to him, as if he'd been really good at chiseling on stone and then someone handed him pen and paper.  He's a good enough singer, better in a group but still quite good solo.  He's a brilliant assassin.  
  
Harry, on the other hand, is good at everything.  Louis smiles down at the top of Harry's head as he adjusts the monopod against the little table they've built on the branch.  It's not a bad day to be sat in a tree in the moors with Harry Styles.  They've brought gear for a possible weekend-long stay, as their window of opportunity is narrowed to two specific points in time:  when Florence Chester drives through their half-kilometre patch of view of the A537, and the end of the weekend when she drives back into Fairfield  again.  From this specific tree, a kilometre-and-a-half away and at a nearly fifty-degree angle to the road, Louis can see there are three good points for the shot, each just before a break in the railing.  When they scouted for this mission, they spent almost a whole day picking out exactly the right tree, and now Louis's come to feel a bit of affection for it.  He's named it Travis.  Travis is not particularly comfortable to sleep in, but then he's never met a tree that was.  
  
The weather is brilliant.  For the mission, that is; it's rainy and foggy, and when Harry's bullet hits the right rear tyre of Florence Chester's black CTS-V Coupe and it goes over the railing, no one will find it strange except, perhaps, the people who have been trying to protect her by keeping her locked away in the countryside all winter.  This is her first outing to see her contact at the embassy, who will smuggle her out of the country along with every shred of proof of her involvement in a terrorist plot blamed on an entirely different organisation.  Exactly what plot and what organisation isn't clear to them; that kind of information is blacked out.  Louis doesn't care.  He only listens because Harry reads her background to them whilst they eat energy bars.  
  
"I wish they'd tell us more," Harry sighs.   
  
"We know too much as it is, don't you think?" Louis asks.  He's one branch up and his arse has gone numb.   
  
Harry frowns and stares out over the beautiful, wet landscape.  "I just don't think I'm very good at doing what I'm told to do."  
  
Louis looks down at his lap, eyebrows raised.  He doesn't want to say Harry's a liar, exactly; he thinks Harry really has no idea.  Louis knows he's very bossy, and he has to hold back with Harry, who will do anything he's told.  Well, anything he's told by Louis, anyway.  Louis hadn't quite realised it either until about halfway through their time at the X-Factor house, when Liam had sat beside him during breakfast and said frankly, "Don't you think you ought to lay off him a bit?"  
  
"Lay off who about what?" he'd asked with his mouth full of cereal.  
  
Liam stared at him with his mouth open, glanced at Zayn in disbelief, and ducked his head to look at Louis more closely.  "Really."  
  
"You haven't noticed Harry's shaved his legs," Zayn said flatly.   
  
Louis paused.  "No," he said.  "Has he really?"  
  
He had tugged on Harry's leg hair the other day and murmured, "Come on Harry, be a good boy and shave all this off.  You'll be so aerodynamic."  
  
And Harry had laughed and squirmed but not really pulled away; he never pulled away unless Louis startled him from sleep, which he liked to do.  It made him uncomfortable how much he loved to watch Harry sleep.  He felt like he had as a child when he would see cats sleeping in a ball and instantly want to wake them up and pull them to him.  That was Harry all over.   
  
"Maybe I just gave him the idea," he protested, but Liam looked at him like he was really stupid and he knew better.  After that he was careful not to say anything too wild, although if he suggested a lyric change or two it was only out of fun and not because Harry turned pink as a peony when Louis crooned that he was such a good lad.  
  
Now, he only says, "Hm," and pats Harry's head.  They've both got beanies on even under their jackets against the wet chill, and even though they have a thin film stretched out between a few branches above them to protect them from the rain, Harry's eyelashes are wet with condensation when he looks up at Louis and smiles like Louis is simply the best thing in the entire world.  Whenever Louis is stressed out and thinks he can't take it anymore – which happens once a month, on average – he remembers he has Harry and whatever weight he's carrying always lightens.   
  
It's not until four twenty-six in the afternoon that Louis hears the little tap-tap-tap in his left ear that means Florence Chester is on the move.  She'll be within their view in ten minutes.  Louis pulls out his binoculars again and swivels, shifting on his branch, to observe.  He's a good shot, very good, but not sniper material.  Sometimes he gets the medium-range jobs and Harry's the scout, but they both prefer it when it's Louis scouting and Harry shooting.  Louis's had to do a few jobs without Harry, quick clean-up jobs with the other boys where Harry had to be somewhere else, and he's always startled at how not right it feels.  They work together so well they move like a dance where both partners almost seem to read each other's minds.  
  
At four thirty-nine, he sees the black Coupe.  Regrettably, Chester is in the back seat and she has a driver.  Louis hates excess casualties.  "See it?" he asks.  
  
"Yep," Harry breathes.  Louis loves to watch Harry work.  He's lazy and slow and deliberate about everything until it's time to take the shot, and then he goes so still he becomes part of the scenery.  Part of the _rifle_ , Louis thinks.  Harry is a gun.  
  
This isn't Harry's longest shot, not nearly.  Once he had to do someone off the Severn Bridge from a distance of just under twenty-five hundred metres.  They stayed in and got blindingly drunk that night to combat the shakes that came with the most dangerous missions, like the one in Damascus where they were nearly compromised and had to actually walk out of the country and into Jordan for their pickup.  Louis rejected trauma counselling in favour of two weeks' leave after that, and the two of them hid from everyone, friends and family alike, just stayed at a hotel in Barcelona and swam during the day and slept wrapped tight around each other at night, unable to be alone for more than a few minutes.  Something's been different between them since then, hanging over them like a storm about to break, but Louis hasn't quite figured it out yet and he's not sure he knows how.  
  
Harry doesn't take his first opportunity.  The Coupe is slow, mindful that the Cat and Fiddle is one of the most dangerous places to drive in inclement weather.  Louis has checked the wind direction and speed and clocked the car's speed every minute for the last five and murmurs it to Harry.  Everything goes glacial and bright: breath, wind, tree, rain, car, bullet.  The Coupe passes the second break in the guard rail and then it's perfect, it slots together exactly right, like it always is with them, and Louis knows when Harry needs to shoot.     
  
"Get it, babe," he whispers, and Harry's finger, already depressing the trigger, follows through as he mouths an apology.  The suppressor dulls it down to a high, sharp _tack_ , and the tree absorbs most of the shock, but Louis feels it anyway.  He thinks after all this time he's attuned to bullets, or maybe just Harry's.  Louis watches through the binoculars and Harry watches through his site as the bullet rips into the right rear tyre, bursting it open just as it adjusts for the curve.  He's certain there are circumstances where the car could recover, but not this one.  The tyre wobbles hard and the car goes with it, skids, hydroplanes and begins to drift toward the guard rail.  There's a sign there to let drivers know this section of the guard rail is under construction.  The Coupe hits the sign sideways and, silently to them, disappears over the edge of the road.  The likelihood that either the driver or Florence Chester will survive the fall is approximately six percent with a two percent error.  Very low.  However, as they quickly pack their gear and remove all trace of their tree blind, scrub the branches with other branches to erase markings from their shoes, and begin to walk to the rendevous a klik away, Louis tunes into the emergency calls.  
  
Twenty minutes later, when they're in the sensible navy sedan parked behind the Inn (Liam's doing, Louis will wager; if Niall's in charge they always end up with something ridiculous like a scooter and sidecar, and if it's Zayn it'll be beautiful and impractical and Harry will make rumbling, sexual noises at it and never want to give it back), Louis hears the first confirmation that both passengers of the Coupe are dead.  
  
"All set," he tells Harry, who's driving with his hands easy on the wheel, not nervous at all.  Not like their first mission together, nor like their first twenty missions together.  By now they both trust the feeling that comes after, good or bad.  They had known the job was successful the moment Harry pulled the trigger; now all that's left is to call in the confirmation.  From his bag he pulls out his mobile – not his regular mobile, but a different one only for the job, coded to his own voice – and sends out the number he was given back when they were still in training, along with one word:  black.  Mission complete.  
  
*  
  
It was always the two of them, from the beginning.  Sometimes he feels like it was like that even before the beginning, for some reason, like Harry's permeated his life so heavily that he's bled back through the past and he's there in all Louis's early memories too, little Hazza being stupid with little Louis.  The click was so instantaeous and profound all the other boys called them by one word, Harreenlouis, sometimes even when they were just referring to one of them.  
  
Louis had to admit to being a little nonplused when one afternoon before a performance, Harry was getting his hair done and everyone started teasing him about some girl.  His heart thumped hard when Harry blushed and turned his head away, and the youngest makeup artist laughed, "Oh, you're tearing up the girls' hearts, Harry Styles."   
  
Louis turned to Zayn, expecting him to share the joke, but Zayn didn't look terribly surprised at all.  "Little curly Harry?" he asked, and Zayn nodded as if Louis were really stupid.   
  
"You just don't notice because he doesn't look at anyone else when you're around," Zayn said.   
  
But he did notice after that.  He noticed all the girls, and how Harry didn't exactly discourage them but didn't quite encourage them either.  The thing about Harry was that he was just always so kind.  Not in a schmoozy way, but when he talked to people he genuinely wanted to hear what they had to say, and he didn't want them to feel bad, ever.  He also, Louis thought, needed to be approved of, and perhaps that was what brought out some of the hero worship when it came to Louis.  Louis didn't approve of anybody, or hardly anybody.  He wasn't impressed by people and often found them annoying, or wanted to annoy them, mess with them a bit and make them roll their eyes and tell him to shut up.  Not Harry, though, although on paper Louis would have said he'd have hated Harry, hated his sweet little boy face and his curls and all the girls and his posh little accent and clothes.  But then on paper you couldn't tell Harry was the loveliest wickedest pervert, and his hair was so pretty.  
  
Louis was always jittery and a bit of a fuckhead after a performance – and he knew it, which made it worse.  There was nothing like knowing you were a fuckhead to make you feel like being more of a fuckhead.  But he could never seem to stop, and the other boys were so impatient with him he couldn't even stand himself, and the next day they had to both memorise a new song and qualify at the range.  He was seething and kept wanting to kick things when they went to the shop after to get something to eat.  
  
"What the fuck is wrong with you, mate," Zayn said, and when you got a reaction from Zayn you knew maybe it was time to sort yourself out.   
  
One of the drivers was waiting outside the shop for the girls, and Louis watched her when he had finished getting his sweets and was leaning against the shop wall.  She was in her late twenties and pretty in a low-key way, a bit titsy for his taste but not bad.  For a moment he fantasised about fucking her over something, a couch maybe, and she'd be begging him to go harder, to do it so hard she'd feel it the next day.  He didn't know her name and didn't particularly care, but the fantasy was satisfying.  Harry would care, he thought, and scowled at her, and for whatever reason that was the thing that caught her attention.  
  
"Hi," she said with a wave.  
  
"Yeah," he said, rudely.   
  
"You look upset," she said.  "You all right then?"  
  
He shrugged.  "Not really.  Could do with burning off some energy."  
  
She tilted her head at him and said, "I can give you my number if you don't want to burn it off alone."  
  
Cheeky.  He liked it.  "Cheeky," he said.  "I like it."  
  
He handed his mobile to her and she put in her number, handed it back, and he went back to the car with the other boys.  Niall grabbed his mobile from him before he could put it back into his pocket and hooted, "Claaaaaarraaaa!"  
  
"Wot?" Harry said slowly, looking from Niall to Louis.  "Did you just pull?"  
  
"He did," Niall said.  "In like what, fifteen seconds, Louis?"  
  
He smirked.  "In the words of a wise man, don't hate me cos you ain't me."  
  
Harry frowned, looking out the window at the street, and Louis felt like a tit.  "Sorry," he said, "that was crude.  I'm sure she'll be lovely."  
  
"It's not fair, I never pull," Niall said sulkily.  
  
"That's because you're really mean," Harry said.   
  
"So is Louis!" Niall protested.   
  
"No he's not," Harry said, his eyebrows lowered as he looked to Louis for confirmation.  "No, you're not."  
  
"He's not mean to you, Harry, cos you're like his magical teddy bear or something," Niall said.   
  
Harry went back to staring out the window again, and Louis's mood went from pretty bad to really, really bad.  "Piss off, Niall," he said, kicking him hard enough to make him grunt.  "You'd pull more if you didn't –"  
  
" _Stop_ ," Liam said, putting his hands over his ears, "you're driving me _crazy_."  
  
He subsided angrily and watched Harry the rest of the way back to the house, but Harry kept to the window with a troubled look on his face.  
  
*  
  
It wasn't like he was a virgin, or anything.  He'd had a couple of girlfriends and one not-really-girlfriend, and he knew what he was doing.  He showered and asked Zayn to make sure he smelled good, did his hair, put on his current favourite outfit, and texted her "hi it's louis x."  She texted him back saying, "go out back i'll pick you up."  
  
They weren't _strictly_ allowed to go outside the house without permission, but exceptions were often made because everybody needed an outlet now and again, and he figured he was going off with a member of the crew and that was completely within his rights as a contestant.  Also, there was a certain amount of scandal he thought he was allowed in order to attract camera attention, and if that also meant getting laid in the process, he wasn't going to cry about his sacrifice.  
  
Harry was curled on the sofa with his tea when Louis left, watching thoughtfully.  There was something about Harry knowing what he was about to do that made him shiver a bit, and he was half-hard before he opened the door and realised there was a car waiting for him.  Clara motioned him into the passenger seat and he smiled at her, wondering how grateful exactly he was supposed to act.  She didn't seem to want much conversation, which was good because he didn't know what to say.  He knew her name now and that was probably as far as he was going to go with it.  
  
"We're all at the inn," she finally said.  "The girl who's sharing with me has a boyfriend nearby, so I've got the room to myself."  
  
"Brilliant," he said.  
  
They got to her little room and he started to feel nervous flutters in his stomach, although his dick wasn't doing much until she turned to him, shrugged off her quilted jacket, and said, "Get your clothes off and get on the bed."  
  
He liked a bit of a challenge, and suddenly his dick was very interested.  "I don't think so," he said, grinning.  "Can't just take advantage of me like that."  
  
"Oh, and what do you propose then?" she asked.  
  
"Let me make you feel good," he said, because that was what he liked best.   
  
She looked him over skeptically.  "All right.  How do you want it?"  
  
He nudged a knee against the bed, judging its height.  "Get on your hands and knees," he said, pleased when she went pink and nodded.  He could already feel her naked under him, hips in his hands, the shape of her back like a violin as he played her and gave her exactly what she needed, which was what he needed:  to be in charge of her pleasure, to withdraw or give it or make it last as he willed.  If he had time he'd push her, make her need to come so badly she'd beg him, give it to her hard and then tease her on the brink until she couldn't find words anymore.  But he didn't have time for that, he only had an hour or so to take the edge off his frustration, so he pulled off his jumper and his trousers and got to work.  
  
*  
  
When he let himself back into the house he thought he was doing pretty well at being sly, though he was sure someone probably had a camera on him and the footage would be released at a later date, probably the most embarrassing moment possible, and all the sordid details would be highlighted in red.  He couldn't find it in him to care, however, because all his tension was gone for the moment and he felt really good.  He felt blissful and thought it might be possible he wouldn't get into any shouting matches with anyone for maybe twenty-four hours.  
  
He went into the kitchen to get a glass of water and a bit of cayenne to gargle because he was a little hoarse, and jumped when he saw Harry there, clad only in a pair of black boxer briefs.  Harry had a little tub of guacamole in one hand and he looked somewhat guilty, as if he'd been dipping right into it with his fingers.  
  
"Hey," Louis said, suddenly aware he smelled of sex and sweat.  
  
"Hey," Harry said, setting down the tub and wiping his hand on his underwear.  "Did you get off with that girl?"  
  
"Yeah," he admitted.  His hands were shoved in his pockets, and he rubbed his left fingers and thumb together, remembering where they'd been.   
  
"What was it like?"  Harry's face was so intense sometimes, it really made Louis shiver.  His eyes were trained on Louis's mouth, his brows lowered, but he didn't look angry.  He looked...Louis didn't know what exactly.   
  
"It was like," he began, and suddenly he did something he could never explain.  He took his hand out of his pocket and held it to Harry's lips.  Harry's eyes darted up, wide and dark, and Louis lifted an eyebrow in challenge.  "Go on.  Have a taste."  
  
He almost didn't expect Harry to take him up on it, but then Harry was obediently opening his mouth around Louis's first two fingers.  He swirled his tongue over the pads and Louis's breath hitched frantically before he caught himself.  He wondered if they tasted like anything but salt and skin and thought maybe, maybe it wasn't just her Harry was tasting, but Louis as well.  Harry sucked a little, tugging a bit with his teeth, and pulled off, and Louis lowered his hand, but Harry brought it back up and began to suck on his thumb as well.  He was thorough about it, getting it all the way down to the palm and then back up again before he popped it out of his mouth.  
  
"Is that what it tastes like?" he asked, his voice low and soft.  
  
"I don't know," Louis admitted without thinking.  "I didn't use my mouth."  
  
"Well, now it's in my mouth," Harry said with a little smile.  
  
Louis cleared his throat.  "Well that's, um.  Now you know.  For future reference."  
  
"Thanks," Harry said, the line of his jaw firmer, more like the man he would become, in the half-dark of the kitchen.  Louis moved past him to the bedroom, and they never spoke of the incident again.  
  
*  
  
Back at their flat, Harry cleans.  It's not unusual for him to get an attack of tidying after a job and Louis lets him, even though it's a bit annoying to have to keep relocating from room to room whilst Harry vacuums and dusts.  It's not like he's ever going to do the washing up himself, and it seems to straighten out some kind of kink in Harry's little obsessive soul.  When he's finished they sit on the couch and watch X-Factor and eat leftover takeaway.   
  
"She's got it sorted," is the only thing either of them says.  There's a girl both of them are rooting for, Sarah Moore, a tiny pixie with a mad jazzy voice, but they've been paying keen attention to the one band whose noise is a little like their own.  Harry's curled up to Louis's side and Louis has an arm around him, and they're both tired and cosy and Louis thinks maybe he's going to fall asleep like this.  
  
He's really almost there, half into a little mini-dream where he's watching a fat cartoon king skip along a path in the woods, when Harry stirs against him and lifts his head.  
  
"Hey," Louis mumbles, smiling because it's Harry.   
  
But Harry doesn't smile back, and that intense look he sometimes gets is turned up so high Louis is about to ask what's wrong when Harry dips his head down a bit and kisses him.  
  
He's not awake enough for it to feel weird.  And maybe it wouldn't have anyway, because it's natural to open his lips and kiss back.  It's an extension of holding him, and he holds Harry almost every day.  Harry relaxes against him and it's warm, and sweet, and he's suddenly so happy, surrounded in contentment like a blanket when he didn't realise he was cold.  Whatever else there is in the world, Louis doesn't care about it.  He cares about Harry's hand on his cheek, brushing gently along his stubble, and he cares about Harry's tongue tracing along the insides of his lips, and he cares about Harry sucking on the bottom one gently, and he cares about the way Harry smells and the way his hair feels silky in between Louis's fingers and the way his long body turns toward Louis's and then on top of him.  And he cares about Harry's hands on his wrists, dragging them up and pressing them into the couch.  He's pinned and Harry's legs are slipping between his, bare against the flannel of Louis's pyjamas, and then Louis can feel the thick, hard line of his cock through his slippery gym shorts.  
  
" _Louis_ ," Harry mumbles urgently against his lips, kissing harder, and Louis moans and arches up and it makes Harry shudder and press him down further into the couch.  And then Harry settles into the cradle of Louis's hips and there's such good pressure on the head of his cock, where he needs it – he's been so involved in Harry's lips he hasn't realised until just this second how hard he is.  Harry slides against him, rubbing, his breath shaky in Louis's mouth.  And Louis thinks of all the times he's heard Harry get like that, all the times he's seen Harry with someone else, someone who wasn't him, and yanks his wrists out from Harry's fingers so he can wrap Harry up close to him, arms all the way around as he kisses.  He slowly rotates so Harry's under him and once Harry catches on he goes with a happy sigh, arms round Louis's back and, in an astonishingly cheeky move, hands on Louis's bum.  He squeezes it and Louis laughs between them.  
  
"I really love it when you laugh," Harry whispers, and it's ridiculous that he should feel this sudden surge of shaky delight because he's loved Harry for years, but Harry's looking up at him like he's ice cream and rainbows and a brand new Arctic Warfare Super Magnum all rolled into one.  
  
He's got his fingers in Harry's hair and when he rubs his scalp Harry goes boneless under him, like he always does, except this time his hips also shift upward, out of control.  "You really like that," Louis says, a bit in awe of the reaction.   
  
"I always did, but it didn't used to be so sexual," Harry moans.  Louis tugs on his hair a bit so Harry will tilt his head back and let Louis suck on his neck.  He knows Harry's neck is sensitive, so when he starts to breathe raggedly and thrust up against Louis, desperately seeking pressure against his cock, it's not a surprise, although it is the sexiest thing Louis's ever seen.  Louis gives it to him, pushes his hips down and rubs in hard, tight circles, and Harry digs his fingers into Louis's arse and arches, his breath going absolutely frantic.  
  
Louis realises at the last possible moment that Harry's about to come and whispers, "Do it, Harry, oh god," without even meaning to, and Harry gives a breathless, trembling cry and comes.  Louis wants to save this exact moment onto some kind of computer so he can replay it again and again in perfect detail, because it's beautiful and it's Harry and his memory won't be enough.   
  
But here, now, he can stroke Harry's hair and whisper nonsense to him and kiss the tip of his nose, because Harry looks as if he might need a while to calm down.  He turns on the couch and holds Harry, shivering and panting, to him very carefully.  They slept like this in Barcelona, the holiday they took after the horrible journey out of Syria that almost killed them both.  Each night one of them gravitated into the other's bed and they just held on, Louis with his face and fingers in Harry's hair and Harry with his arms tight around Louis's middle.  Harry's always made him feel better just by being present, but they touched then as if it were something life-affirming.  When they came back from holiday they retreated into their own rooms again and Louis's felt not quite right since, a little off-kilter, out of step, until now.  
  
The vibration of his mobile against his arse wakes him up.  Harry's face is mashed into Louis's chest and he's snoring like there's a motorcycle in his throat.  Groggily Louis pulls the phone out of his pocket, and when he sees the name he twitches hard enough to stop Harry's noise.  
  
"H-hello," he says, voice scratchy.  
  
"Louis, hi, yeah," Simon says, pleasantly enough.  "We've got a meeting tomorrow for the tour, just wanted to make sure you've remembered."  
  
Louis has completely forgot about it, but that's what his handler is for.  Simon knows that.  "Of course," he says.  
  
"Oh, brilliant," Simon says.  "Pass it along to Harry if you see him.  His mobile's going straight to voice mail."  
  
"Of course," he says again, and hates that Simon still makes him feel nervous after all this time.  But Simon knows, Simon knows absolutely what's just happened and there's no way this call is anything other than an acknowledgement of it.  
  
"Shit," he says when he takes his hand away from his face.  
  
"I know it was Simon," Harry says, yawning.  
  
"He knows – he knew what we were doing," Louis says, and can't figure out why he's panicking.  He thinks it must be because he'd forgot, for half an hour, about the lack of privacy, the way they're always watched; he'd forgot all the lessons he'd learnt so well after the X-factor was finished.  He'd forgot there's one person in the world he can't have and that's Harry.  
  
Harry stretches.  "Probably.  Your sex voice is amazing."  
  
"We can't do it again," Louis says, feeling panic claw its way up from his stomach to his mouth.  "Really, Harry, we can't."  
  
"We barely did anything," Harry mumbles and curls close again.  "You got me off, that's all."  
  
"Yeah," Louis agrees, going breathless at the memory.  He puts his arms around Harry again.  "We can't do that again though, all right?"  
  
"Do we have to stop doing this?" Harry asks, slipping his hand under Louis's shirt to get closer.  
  
"I can't stop that," he whispers.   
  
"Good," Harry says, and he's asleep with his mouth open in under a minute.  
  
*  
  
It's pretty clear they're fucked, is the thing.  
  
After they were booted from the X-Factor, after they'd finished resistance training and their course was complete, they signed their contracts.  It was a long process that began with them excitedly looking to see what they were going to get to do – tours, signings, a book for god's sake – but gradually grew tedious as the rules went on and on and _on_.  There were lawyers because their mothers weren't going to let them just sign any old thing, and Harry and Liam and Niall were underage, and there was negotiating over percentages until he actually fell asleep.  But he was awake and alert when they outlined who the band were and were not allowed to get off with.  Band members and crew, yes.  Band members and stylists, yes.  Band members and makeup, yes.  Band members and security, yes (to a point).  Band members and audience, encouraged with caveats.  Band members and band members, not at all, no caveats.  
  
"Basically," Harry said gravely about halfway into it, "we're allowed to shag anyone we want, except each other."  
  
Harry's mum nudged him to get him to be more polite, but the lawyers and assistants and Simon looked at him intently.  
  
"That's exactly right, yeah," Simon said.  "It's pretty standard – bands get close, someone falls for someone else, they break up, the band falls apart.  We've just added a provision in to prevent that kind of scenario."  
  
"That shouldn't be a problem with us," Liam said, and they all laughed uneasily because only the day before the training crew had come down with their final fieldwork assessments and said Styles and Tomlinson either needed to be a permanent team or they needed to be separated right away because otherwise they were going to be a danger to each other.  Everyone looked at Harry to gauge how upset he was.  Terrible actor, Harry Styles.  Everything he felt was right there on his face.  
  
"If any of us wanted to live together, though," Harry went on.  "That would be all right, wouldn't it?  It's just Louis and I decided ages ago we wanted to get a flat."  
  
Louis felt his face go hot and added, "We've just got on so well these last few months.  And Harry can cook."  
  
"Of course," Simon's assistant, Genevieve, said smoothly.  "We can hardly tell you how to live, can we?"  
  
 _But you already have_ , Louis thought.  The message was received clearly, and Harry sat at the table with his face serious and unhappy the rest of the meeting.  
  
*  
  
Louis doesn't know when Harry lost his virginity.  He assumes it must have been sometime between leaving the X-factor house and touring.  Louis has never been good with women, but it's not something he's ever _really_ been fussed about, although he looks at Harry's ease with bewildered admiration.  Harry can raise an eyebrow at a girl and her knickers will disappear, never to be seen again.  Not that he would do that, because Harry hates to take advantage, but there's a kind of girl, a girl who's looking for fun, and Harry's good at recognising that sense of fun.   
  
What Louis does know is that the first time they shared a room, Harry was talking to two girls outside and somehow they were both up for it – up for what, Louis wasn't even sure, but Harry said they were – and one of the girls was putting her arm through Louis's and giggling and saying, "You're Louis, yeah?" and he agreed, and then Harry was pulling the girl into their room with one of his wild laughs and whispering, "Come on, Lou" and the lights were off and Louis realised Harry was on the bed with the girl's legs already round his waist, kissing her, and the one who had hold of Louis's arm tugged him in and onto his own bed.  
  
He tried not to listen, but Harry's ragged little achy moans seemed like they were right in his ear, and when Harry made a choked noise and whispered, "Slow down, I'm close," Louis went over the edge hard and came before the girl he was inside had even got halfway there.  She was annoyed, but he made it up to her with his fingers and wouldn't allow her to leave after, when it always got awkward.  But he didn't want to be alone ( _with Harry_ , he thought, and pushed it away) and he clung to her in the night.   
  
Harry looked fucked-out and shameless the next day and smiled slyly at him.  "That was brilliant," he said, and it happened again the next night, and the next, and then one night Harry went out and brought a second girl up from the bar whilst Louis laid awake and tried not to hear Harry's mouth between her legs, sucking voraciously.   
  
It wasn't that he didn't have the same appetite for sex that Harry did, he just didn't think he had the same appetite for _girls_.  He got off with one or two by himself and found it had gone strangely flat.  He put it down to too much excess at once, feeling that perhaps he wanted to be horny rather than that he actually was horny.  Then one evening he and Harry shared a room again and Harry eagerly brought a girl to him, looking to Louis for his approval, and he found things hadn't gone so flat after all.  It was the best sex of his life to date – he felt like he hadn't come in months, and when he did it was so intense he was lost in it, not lost in the girl but lost in the feeling of it, the pounding of his hips.  It just poured and poured out of him.  "Sorry, love," he panted, but she didn't seem to mind.  As they got more and more notoriety, the girls never minded.  He suspected he could do whatever he wanted to them, and the thought made him disgusted, not for them necessarily but for himself, for everyone involved.  Harry was good at making people not feel used, he thought, perhaps because he wasn't using them, or perhaps because he enthusiastically let himself be used as well.  Either way, it didn't feel sordid for Harry the way it did for everyone else.  
  
After that Louis thought he'd ruined himself and would need progressively kinkier and kinkier sex to get off, but he hadn't leveled up to whips and chains just yet, he only seemed to want an audience, or to watch.   
  
There was a girl, once, backstage when they were rehearsing.  They've never brought girls backstage, so it was a shock when Louis got in early, went round the corner intending to change, and saw Harry and this lovely girl, a brunette like Harry likes, sat on one of the makeup chairs.  She was turned round facing away from Harry, toward Louis, her legs spread wide so Louis could see Harry's cock clearly thrusting up into her.  Louis backed up two steps, partially hidden by the stage curtain, and he stayed there uncertain whether to say something or leave.  His eyes skittered over her body – face contorted in pleasure, perfectly-shaped tiny breasts under Harry's hands, pinching her nipples, thighs trembling – and he tried not to look at Harry's face or his cock, glistening wet and disappearing up into her in short, hard strokes, but found his gaze trained there anyway.  It was like porn, really good amateur porn where everyone's attractive but not plastic and nobody's grunting out stupid cliches.  His favourite porn shot has always been when the camera zeroes in on the actual fucking, the thrust in and out, balls bouncing, wet noises, dick in cunt.   
  
He started when Harry slid his hand over the girl's hip, between her legs, and began to stroke his fingers over her clit.  She gasped and rested her head back on his shoulder and Louis could see Harry was getting really close, his eyes shut tight, jaw tensing.  He could smell it, smell both of them, musky and thick, and knew he should step away back behind the curtain because he'd been standing there for almost a full minute watching his mate having sex, but he thought indignantly that that's what you got when you decided to fuck someone in a semi-public changing area half an hour before rehearsal.  
  
The girl wasn't noisy, but suddenly stiffened and arched with a little whimper.  Louis's eyes flew to Harry's face for his reaction just in time to see Harry lose it, his rhythm going hard and slow and tight, gasping half breath and half moan.  Louis had heard him come dozens of times but it was the first time he'd seen it, and he flushed down to his hands, until his palms were hot, at Harry's face, suddenly gone slack, his mouth open.   
  
After a few seconds Harry opened his eyes and looked right at Louis, who squeaked.  Harry smiled lazily at him and kept thrusting for a few moments until he finally slowed and stopped.  The girl sighed as if very, very satisfied, and lifted herself off his lap.  Her clothes were on the floor and Louis was torn between watching her dress and looking at Harry's slick cock, softening until he had to hold the condom on with one hand.  She slid into her t-shirt, skirt, knickers, and sandals, and brushed a hand through her hair.  
  
"Good?" Harry murmured with a grin.  
  
"Yeah," she replied.  Then, turning toward the curtain, she sought out Louis's eyes as well and added, "Very."  
  
She left round the back and Harry stretched without concern, dropping the condom into the trash.  Louis wanted to throw a robe at him and tell him to cover his willy for god's sake, but he couldn't say anything just yet.   
  
"That was good," Harry said.  "You liked it, didn't you?"

Louis gaped, feeling around for a denial, but the truth was he was only waiting for Harry to be gone so he could go have the most ferocious wank of his life and hope he could manage not to think about Harry for the duration of it.  "I'm...sorry?" he said.  
  
Harry smirked at him, wetting a cloth at the sink and wiping himself down.  "You didn't bother us, if you couldn't tell," he said.  "You've been looking uptight lately and I thought a bit of fun might cheer you up, give you a bit of a show."  
  
"Thanks for that," he said drily, and then he did find a pair of pants on the floor and threw them at Harry's head.   
  
Harry sometimes kept the lights on after that when they had girls in the room, and when Louis looked over to the other bed, as he always did, Harry was already looking at him, his eyes heavy and knowing.  
  
*   
  
Nobody ever quite realises the extent to which Harry can't be contained, however, least of all Louis.  Just when Louis had got used to one thing, he woke in the night to Harry leading someone into the room.  The second voice was low, a man's voice, Scottish, sweet though.  Louis pretended he was asleep and watched through his lashes as Harry kicked off his trainers and peeled off his t-shirt, left his necklaces on as always, and kissed the other bloke like it was just nothing.  The other bloke was fit, no doubt about it.  He looked a little like Adam Levine, shorter than Harry, a bit slighter.  Louis wondered how that felt.  Not that he'd thought about other boys, but if he had, he wondered how it would be to kiss someone taller than he was.  If it would feel weird, or unnatural to him.  If he'd feel less in control.  But the Adam Levine-looking bloke didn't seem to have any problems with it, from what Louis could see; he got Harry's jeans and pants off and the two of them kissed on the bed for quite a long time.  Then there was whispering, and rustling around in the bed, and Louis didn't dare open his eyes any farther to see what was happening.  But he heard slick noises and a sound he'd never heard from Harry before, and when he opened his eyes just far enough to peek, Harry was on his side facing Louis and the other bloke was behind him, kissing his neck, a hand on his hip and a leg thrown over Harry's.  Harry shuddered and spread his legs a little and Louis wondered what on earth was happening that could make Harry's face go slack like that, not like Louis had ever seen it even when he was really balls deep in someone.  
  
Harry's eyes went hazy after a few moments and the Louis saw the two of them were moving, forward and back, forward and back, and Harry's cock had thickened, and suddenly Louis _realised_ – the bloke was fucking him.  Harry was being fucked.  Right there in front of Louis.  Harry bit his lip and breathlessly moaned, and when he opened his eyes fully again he was looking straight at Louis.  Louis thought he ought to apologise or close his eyes, roll over, but Harry shook his head no. Stay. Watch.  Louis couldn't have looked away if he'd tried, although he also couldn't – he just _couldn't_ put his hand between his legs and wank whilst he watched Harry.  It was doing something to him already, eroding something he didn't want eroded but knew was already falling away from him.   
  
Harry moaned at a thrust and curled his fingers in the sheets, eyes rolling back.  He recovered and looked at Louis again, and reached for his cock.  But he stopped just before he touched it and raised an eyebrow.  _Can I?_ he seemed to be asking.  Without thinking about it, Louis shook his head, and Harry bit his lip harder and pulled his hand away, curling it into the sheets again.  Whatever the bloke was doing behind him seemed to feel really good suddenly because he gave a soft cry.  Louis watched his cock, curious as to how this had become his life but not actually caring that much, and saw how wet it was.  Was he always like that, Louis wondered – did he always get that turned on?  Or did it just feel that good?  He couldn't help but think about what it would feel like to have a cock up your arse once in a while, everybody thought about that, he was sure of it.  If it was anything like he what he was watching, with Harry pressing his face into the bed and gasping in pleasure, he thought perhaps he'd have to try it.  
  
Prickly with sweat and embarrassment and so turned on he could barely move without moaning because his cock kept rubbing against the bed, he turned to his side and pushed the sheet and his shorts down, so Harry would see him.  Harry's mouth dropped open and he cried out again, louder this time, his hand flying to his cock before he seemed to remember that Louis had told him not to touch it.  Louis held his finger to his mouth to shush Harry and then used the same finger to run over the length of his cock, shivering at how good it felt.  Harry's eyes were fixed on it, and he alternated beween biting his lip and panting open-mouthed, so it took Louis a few moments to catch his attention and indicate that Harry should follow his lead.   
  
 _Do this_ , he gestured, and slid his foreskin up over the head of his cock.  Harry nodded and followed.  _Do this_.  He carefully slid the foreskin back down again and Harry did it as well.  _Do this_.  He rubbed his finger around the exposed head.  Harry moaned fitfully as he copied the action, and Louis raised an eyebrow at him before he quieted.  _Do this_.  Louis circled his thumb around the small patch of skin under the head, the most sensitive part.  It felt fantastic but he wasn't paying attention to that, only Harry, who rubbed his face in the sheets and had to bite his lips harder and harder to obey Louis and keep silent.  The Adam Levine lookalike behind him had largely ceased to exist for Louis, although he could occasionally hear muffled groans.  All that mattered was Harry mouthing _please_ , _please_.  He looked drunk, cheeks and lips bright pink, his hair sticking to his forehead and over his ears, chest glistening with sweat and flushed down to his nipples.  Louis shook his head and Harry opened his mouth around the sheets and bit down.  
  
The thrusts behind Harry sped up and Louis knew the other bloke was coming.  Harry looked at Louis pleadingly again and Louis shook his head, realising he could tell Harry not to come indefinitely and Harry would actually obey.  The knowledge made him so crazy suddenly that he barely had time to stroke himself before he was coming as well, fighting to stay quiet, fighting to keep his eyes open so he could see how Harry _looked_ at him whilst he spurted into his hand and onto the bed and Harry wasn't allowed to.  
  
Louis tucked his cock back in and pulled the sheets up just as the other bloke stirred behind Harry and stood.   
  
"You all right?" he asked.  "You didn't –?"  
  
"I'm good," Harry said shakily, smiling, rolling over onto his back so his cock was huge and hard and obvious.  "Thank you though, that was lovely."  
  
The bloke cast an eye toward Louis, who smiled lazily.  "All right," he said, shrugging, and pulled his clothes on quickly.  "Don't mind me saying, something's not right here."  
  
Louis gave him a bored eyeroll and waited for him to leave.  The moment the door shut behind him Harry groaned and put his hands over his face, laughing.  "That was _wicked_ ," he said, "but oh god, I have to come soon or I'm going to die."  
  
"What if I said no?" Louis asked.  He felt so unbelievably good, like the best endorphin rush combined with the slow, delicious feeling you got after you'd gone swimming and then spent time in the hot tub, combined with a massage maybe.  There was no part of him that didn't feel perfect.  
  
"I'd do whatever you said," Harry said, and far from sounding reluctant, he seemed eager to prove his point, turning toward Louis again as if waiting to be instructed.  And Louis wanted to, that was the problem.  He wanted to tell Harry to wait, and wait, and _wait_ , until it was Louis who could – and he had to stop himself there because even the edges of that thought were tender as a fresh wound.  
  
"Go on, do it," he said, breaking whatever hold they'd had on each other for the last hour, and Harry looked disappointed before he took himself in hand.  Louis rolled over and held his pillow tight and didn't listen.  
  
*  
  
There hasn't been anyone since then.  Not for him, anyway – he's sure Harry has probably gone home with dozens, maybe more, but Louis's out of the game.  "Happily single," he says firmly when the topic comes up in interviews, which it always does.  He's busy.  He's got touring obligations, in between which he has many people to kill, and he's got Harry to deal with – Harry who, now that Louis suddenly needs him desperately, is a bit off and weird.   
  
They're deep into rehearsal, which is always a good time for them because they're given a brief reprieve from everything else, and he and Harry used to go home afterward and have food and telly and snuggling on the couch.  But after the one incident on the couch, Harry's retreated completely.  He spends most of his time in his room, and rarely even comes out to cook.  
  
"He's lost weight," Liam says after rehearsal.  "Anything wrong with him?"  
  
"How should I know?" Louis asks, but he's too exhausted to even snap properly.  
  
"You live with him," Liam says reasonably, "and you're his.  You know.  Whatever you are."  
  
"Best mate?" he suggests, glaring.  
  
"Sure," Liam says.   
  
"He's fine," Louis snaps, mustering up the energy after all, but Harry's not fine and everyone knows it.  Louis isn't fine either.  Nobody's fine.  He tries to talk to Harry and Harry goes stubborn and refuses to even acknowledge Louis's perfectly valid points in re: food-making and flat-cleaning and Louis-snuggling, refuses to even let the words out of Louis's mouth, until Louis shouts at him and calls him a twat and goes off to his room in a strop, slamming the door hard and pacing around furiously and pretending he's not crying.  
  
*  
  
Tour begins again in January and he's been absolutely dreading it.  The entire atmosphere of the group is just off, and they can't get through a rehearsal without screaming at each other.  Even Liam's given up on being the voice of sensibility and is getting nasty with everyone.  He hits Niall in the balls once, on purpose even, although after that things are a little better because they're all so surprised they stop fighting for a bit.   
  
The first gig is at Manchester, a place they've always loved singing at before, but they're all tetchy as cats and nervous before.  
  
"Good luck," Niall says, shaking his head, after they do a halfhearted little morale-booster with each other.  
  
"Fuck off, Niall," Louis says, and Niall shoves him so when they run out he looks like he's really, _really_ excited.  
  
But for some reason, no matter what their own mood, the show goes well.  Put it down to their innate need to perform, Louis thinks, but when you put them in front of a crowd they all of a sudden forget they've been sort of hating each other for the last six weeks and start to love each other again, and their energy is up and they're alive.  He loves this – _loves_ it.  Maybe he's not as good at it as his other job but he loves it better, and the joy of it washes through him, leaving all the good things and none of the bad.  After the first set is done and they run backstage to change, he understands completely when Harry grabs his arm and leans in.  He pulls Harry close and feels the mad energy thrumming through his thin, live-wire body.  
  
"Hey," Louis whispers, "I really sort of love you."  
  
Harry smirks at him the way he hasn't for ages and pushes at his shoulder, too amped to hold still for ten seconds.  The second break is longer and Louis isn't entirely surprised when Harry drags him from the changing area and into the toilet, and without any kind of warning they're kissing like they're each other's air.  The toilet is closet-small and Louis's back thumps against the door with a painful scrape to his shoulder blades but he kind of likes it, kind of hopes there will be visible evidence later.   
  
"Hold on – Louis – " Harry chokes out, and suddenly he's sliding down Louis's body, down onto his knees, looking up at Louis like he's drugged, and Louis gets it just as Harry's fingers slip over his fly.   
  
"Oh god," he breathes, but he puts his hand over Harry's.  "Wait, no."  
  
"Louis," Harry says, and it's a sob, an actual sob.  He has his face pushed against Louis's cock, mouthing it, his breath burning hot through the fabric.  "Please, please."  
  
His erection is a huge, thick line in his trousers, but his fingers are hooked into the scant extra fabric on his thighs and he's not touching it, as if he needs Louis's permission.  Maybe he doesn't even care about touching it, Louis thinks; maybe he only cares about getting Louis's cock in his mouth.  
  
"Not yet," Louis says.  Something in him gets off so hard on the idea of making Harry wait through the whole show, but it's not just that.  They really do have only two minutes, actually a hundred seconds, to make themselves presentable and get out there.  
  
" _Louis_ ," Harry says again, and his face is twisted.  He's crying, Louis realises, desperate.   
  
"No," he says firmly, caresses Harry's face, bends down and pulls Harry up by the elbows.  Harry goes, not willingly but obediently, because he always does what Louis says and Louis suddenly wants to reward him for always being so good, every single time.  Harry's standing slouched, shoulders dropped, miserable, his chin screwed up the way it gets when he's crying, and Louis holds him.  "Ssh, Harry, please don't cry, please, it's okay, I swear the minute we're alone you'll get everything you want."  
  
Harry pants into his neck, shuddering in little hitches and puffs of air, clutching into Louis's shirt and wrinkling it and Louis can't even care.  "I need it so bad, I can't breathe – I can't _breathe_."  
  
"Hey," Louis says, grabbing his wrists.  "You can breathe.  You can calm down, and get out there.  You'll do it because I say so, won't you?"  
  
Harry makes a whinging, about-to-break sound and then relaxes against him in shifts, trying so hard to obey.  He breathes in and out, choking, and Louis strokes his fingers over the pulse points at Harry's wrists and whispers _you're perfect, you're so perfect_ until Harry's chin smooths out and he's all right again.  
  
"That's it."  Louis wipes his face and tugs on his hair.  "I'm going to give it to you, whatever you want, when we get to the hotel."  
  
Harry nods, and they come out of the toilet to the others staring at them like they're circus freaks.  
  
"Nothing to see," Louis barks at them, and picks up a nerf gun and shoots Liam in the face with it.  
  
*  
  
Afterward they have to rush out into the car quicker than usual because security's having a really hard time holding everybody back.  They sit and stare at each other and grin and sweat.  
  
"I always forget how brilliant that is," Liam says.   
  
"Yeah.  Makes me forget how much I want to slap you tossers in the face with my dick sometimes," Louis says, and they all nod because he knows they know exactly what he's talking about.   
  
Harry's sat next to him and whilst they wait for security to make sure no one's going to be run over if they leave, he scoots in close, closer, as close as he can get, and cups his hands over Louis's ear to whisper.   
  
"I want you to fuck me," he begins, and Louis's not ready for his cock to get hard so quickly and has to squirm.  He turns to look directly at Harry and Harry nods.   
  
"Oi, stop psst psst pssting," Niall says.  "Share with the class."  
  
"He's just saying what he wants to do to me later," Louis explains to make them roll their eyes.  Zayn gives him a speculative smile instead and Louis thinks he probably knows better, but he won't ask.  That's one of Zayn's many beauties.   
  
Harry leans in again.  He's pressed so close, as if he wants to crawl inside Louis.  "I used to have these wet dreams all the time," he whispers, and suddenly everyone else in the car might as well be invisible.  "I never thought about boys, much, not until I met you.  And I had all these dreams where you were fucking me.  It'd just be me facedown on the bed and your cock going in and out of me and I'd come four times, five, right in a row, before I woke up."  
  
He makes a noise before he can help it, turns to Harry again and watches him lick his lips.  There's a predatory sort of light in his eyes, like he has to do this or he's going to claw his own skin off, and Louis knows how that feels.  He turns his head back, eager for the next bout of whispering and wondering if he's going to make it to the hotel without pushing the other boys out of the car and taking Harry in the back seat.  Harry taps his shoulder like a little boy asking for his mother's attention, and Louis wants to laugh and wants to kiss him.  
  
"The first time, when we were both in the hotel together, do you remember?" Louis nods.  "That was my first time.  I needed it to be with you even if it couldn't really be with you."  
  
The car begins to move and he grips Harry's knee tight, won't let him whisper anymore because there's something about that last confession that makes him want to roll down the windows and wrap Harry close and kiss him so soft and sweet in front of everyone, until every single last pap has a picture of them and it's broadcast from Japan to Greenland.  
  
*  
  
In the hotel he's too eager to be nice and waves everyone off.  "Nope, gotta talk to Hazza," he says impatiently when Liam asks if they want to go out to eat.  He tries to soften it with, "Flatmate discussion," but doesn't think they take him seriously.  They've got their own room and they shut and lock the door behind them, and the second there's a barrier between them and the other three, they rush to take their clothes off.  Louis gives exactly no fucks what he smells like or how much they need to shower.  He's naked in seconds and they're on his bed and Harry's got his legs wrapped around Louis's hips before they're even kissing.  Louis's cock slides along the crease of his arse and Harry moans into his mouth, scratching his back.  Louis wonders if Harry knows how much he likes to be scratched, or if it's just a thing he does.  Either way he just wants to fuck Harry _now_ and Harry seems to be determined to get his cock inside any way he can.  
  
"I know you've got condoms somewhere, you little tart," he says fondly.  
  
"Side pocket, black bag, bring the lube too," Harry replies with a smile that's aiming for shameless but gets ruined along the way by the sheer desperate dig of his nails when Louis lets him go for thirty seconds.  He won't let Louis put the condom on by himself, rolls it onto Louis's cock and slicks him up with the lube and mumbles, "Go, just _go_ , Lou, do it."  
  
Louis barely has time to guide his cock to Harry's arse before Harry grips it and presses it inside himself.  Later, Louis thinks, when he's not completely insane with blind need, he's going to take his sweet time and finger Harry until he cries.  He wants to see what it is Harry likes so much about this, why it makes him go loose and pliant as soon as Louis's completely inside him.  Louis doesn't move for a few seconds, adjusting to the warmth and pressure and just...the feel of being inside Harry.  
  
"Louis," Harry says, so much deeper even than his normal voice, "I need it, come on, please."  
  
His cock is so fat and thick and with every thrust it looks bigger, and Louis drags a finger over the sensitive tip until Harry starts to twist under him, shifting up toward the touch.  "Not yet," Louis says, moving down to circle his bollocks, drawn up so tight they're almost hard.  
  
Harry closes his eyes and grits his teeth, and Louis can hear his little panicky whimpers of frustration.  
  
"You can hold on a bit longer, can't you?" Louis asks.  
  
He opens his eyes again, dazed, lashes wet.  "Yes, Louis," he says, and it looks like it's _killing_ him but he loves it.  
  
Louis runs his palms over the soft insides of Harry's thighs, pale and tender.  "Why do you always do what I say so well?" he asks.   
  
Harry goes red and turns his face away.  "I want you to think I'm good," he mumbles.   
  
"You're good," Louis whispers, softening.  He puts a hand to Harry's cheek, guiding him back into his line of vision.  "God, you're brilliant."  
  
He places his palms on the mattress on either side of Harry's head, digs his toes in, and thrusts, exactly where he's always, always wanted to be, always, whenever he's been inside someone else, thinking of Harry or trying not to – always Harry.  He kisses along the underside of Harry's jaw when his head tilts back on a gasp, and whispers, "Go ahead."  Harry's hand snakes between them and grips his cock, and he doesn't do much more than rub his first two fingers along it a couple of times before Louis can feel the tight pulsing around him that means Harry's coming.  It splashes against his belly and chest, but he's watching Harry's face, flushed and bright and so beautifully expressive.  He looks lost.  Louis waits until he opens his eyes again and thrusts a few more times, caressing Harry's hair and kissing his nose and chin, before orgasm hits him like a wave – not brutal, as he might have expected, but a gentle rocking that goes on for a while.  
  
Harry covers his face with one arm afterward, the way he does when he's overwhelmed.  "Sweetheart, sweetheart," Louis murmurs again and again along his skin, the fine thin skin on his collar that Louis's always itched to kiss.  Eventually Harry recovers and they cling together, refusing to separate well into the night.  
  
And he knows, before his phone even starts to buzz, that they are fucked, but he can't care because this was always going to happen.  They've only been delaying the consequences.


End file.
